


Sufferings Untold

by neutral_nightfall



Category: Afraid of Monsters & Cry of Fear
Genre: Blood, Gore, Mentions of Rape, Suicide, Violence, self-deprecation, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8868979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutral_nightfall/pseuds/neutral_nightfall
Summary: When faced with questions regarding the 'Black Day', as it was called by Dr. Purnell, Simon simply refused to answer any of them. Moreover, he never mentioned a father. And when the good doctor burned Simon's book, he discovered that a chapter's worth of pages had been torn away.





	1. Sufferings Untold

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps my longest published work so far. The double narratives in this story were inspired by a book I've read, Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher (opinions vary from one to another, but I believe it's worth checking).
> 
> One thing I have to say about this is that it's actually been years since I last saw CoF gameplay, so there might be some inconsistencies in this story, regarding the apartment. Also, in this story are my interpretations of certain characters which have appeared in Cry of Fear (or not, as in the case of Simon's father), and my attempts to explain why they're interpreted that way.
> 
> I'm a relatively new writer so feedbacks of all kinds – praises, criticism (preferably constructive) and all that jazz – are greatly welcomed!

_What did Purnell call it?_

The axe came down like a silent thunder.

_Ah, the Black Day._

“GAH!”

_“Sounds racist,” I told him. We both laughed._

The psycho brought his axe overhead and I sidestepped just in time to avoid another hit. These fuckers usually scream their heads off to announce to their presence but this time somehow one knew to keep its trap shut and got the jump on me.

_The day that car took both my legs, he labelled it that: the Black Day. I wondered what else was there about it that he hasn't known, as the good doctor would, every once in a while, come to me with questions regarding that day. And I never answered them, except with half-smirks, laughter and stubborn quietness._

He readied for another overhead swing. The pain from that hit earlier was kicking in fast. Its cries were deafening. I tried to keep it together. Focus now, Simon, focus!

_Truth is, calling that day with such a name felt like a big joke._

My hand around the nightstick tightened and I raised it up in response to the axe coming down.

_A great big joke which only I and no one else find funny._

I felt the corners of my lips curl into a smirk, as the baton had managed to stop the fire axe dead in its tracks.

_Why?_

Without delay I retaliated.

_Because I've had worse - way way worse - many years ago and the day which undeservingly got a label seemed... mild in comparison, for a lack of better terms._

The _snkt_ sound of my switchblade became almost too sweet to my ears. Immediately I drove the sharp end deep into where its heart was. Then I pulled the blade out only to stab him again in that same spot. Again, and again. And again.

_When that happened I was just a kid. Probably six or seven years old, I honestly don't remember. It feels like many lifetimes ago. Perhaps too many. But I could still remember it as if it was just yesterday._

“SHUT UP!!!” I roared. The hole I made out of his chest, I dug it deeper and wider with every thrust. The psycho was now screeching in my ears but I didn't dare stopping - it would be a fatally stupid move. Its screams did not differ from the usual but there was a kind of agony behind his voice, I could tell. A kind of agony which forces monsters to scream, even. The thought of it made me wanna laugh.

_“Never talks to strangers, Simon.” That was always Mom's advice before she let Dad take me to school._

My arms felt tired. I briefly let go of him and he staggered back. Then I saw an opening where his neck was, and the switchblade found its next mark. Blood sprayed every-fucking-where. Must have cut an artery or two. It made me look away but only for a second – I had a job to finish. I gritted my teeth, held the butt end of the knife tight and pushed him down onto the ground, twisting the blade. The screaming stopped completely after and the smirk on my face broke into an ugly, bloodied grin.

_I'm sorry, Mom. I should have listened to you._

“Deep breaths, Simon...” I wanted to reach my hand out and take the knife back, but then I realized I had no strength left, even for just another small action. I found myself staggering, too, my back hitting a wall and I slid down, too tired to move. “Deep breaths...”

_A serial child rapist was making headlines back then, his inhuman crimes reported all over the news for everyone to see. I should have paid more attention. What I did instead was, foolishly enough, telling myself there was no way it would happen to me._

I looked at the psycho's corpse, then at myself. My hoodie was almost entirely soaked with blood. My blood or his? I had no idea. Probably both. Yeah, both.

_With just a few delicious treats, wise words and advices were all quickly forgotten. Little did I know I was his next target and I had fallen into his trap before I even knew it._

“Aaargh!!!” I winced suddenly. Only now did I notice the burning pain on my chest. That psycho sure as hell got me by surprise, and now I was paying for it. You can never pretend a wound doesn't exist for too long. You may as well try but more often than not it kills you dead just moments away from the realization.

_The way he laid his hands on me, the way he forced himself down on me, the horrible things he did to me..._

Rummaging through my backpack, I fished a syringe of morphine out, rolled my sleeve up and jabbed the pointed end into my wrist. With eyes closed, I welcomed in the bliss and let it wash away the pain.

_All of it was seared into my brain, never to be forgotten. Every waking moment a dreadful recollection of what happened, every dream sooner or later turned into a nightmare._

Slowly, I got back on my feet again, breathing in relief. Plucking the knife from his corpse I decided to put it away and arm myself with the Glock instead. I was here for a reason, plus I had no intentions of walking away right now and with more crazies on the way, I might as well come packing a punch. Moreover, getting jumped again didn't sound like a good idea.

_When he got caught and I was finally freed, I found out that the fucking pedophile had been actually living in the apartment next to my home all along. I couldn't fucking believe it._

The hallway was eerily silent save for my footsteps. All doors locked shut. The elevator was out of order. That left the stairs as the only choice left. I breathed in a lungful and cocked the pistol back. The dim amber glint of the 9mm cartridge before it was chambered in reassured me somewhat, and I decided to carry on.

_A room on the second floor and a day job as a worker for the construction site nearby managed to pass off as ordinary enough to fool everyone._

Huh, someone must have left the emergency lights on, as I was on my way up, the stairs, the steps and even the wall shone bright red. It made me tense up. Letting go of a breath I didn't know had been holding, I stopped to take a break, laying a hand on the wall. I could feel the fear and anxiety trying to crowd my shoulders, my heart thumping loudly inside my chest.

_I wasn't the only victim in this, however._

I wanted to wipe away the sweat on my forehead but my hand stopped short in front of my face. Red droplets fell from my fingers like dark rubies, my glove looking as if having been freshly dipped into a bucket of disgusting crimson paint. It had to be the psycho's blood from earlier. But, weird, shouldn't it have dried by now?

_But I don't know if there was any comfort at all in knowing that the sufferings I was forced to go through were shared by many other kids as well. Especially those younger than me._

My eyes shifted to the wall and I examined it more closely.

_No, scratch that. There was absolutely no comfort at all in that fact._

No, the red wasn't from the lights...

_There, in that dark corner of Hell on this very Earth, lives at too young an age were ruined beyond repair and redemption, forced down a path paved by an eternity of sufferings and a kind of darkness which ran to no end._

Blood. It was fucking blood! I almost jumped backwards in realization.

_I would like to believe that the future is unwritten, that there's still hope for me and if I do my best, I can turn my way around._

Looking back the way I came, I wondered just how much blood was used to paint an entire flight of stairs. There was no way you could mistake it for red paint. The thick, rotten smell of flesh and blood would make sure of that.

_But this pit he had thrown all of us into was so deep that, even though more than a decade has passed, I feel like I have never actually gotten out of it, and the way up... I am still trying to find._

“Fucking hell,” I cursed. I muttered a few more, trying to stomach all of it and walked on.

_In the dark we asked each other if we would ever get to see the light of day again. Some of us... thought of death as an escape._

I came to the first floor expecting the same dark hallway I had seen on the ground floor. Instead what greeted me was a row of blood-stained steel bars as high as the ceiling, barring me access completely. And behind them were...

_And the most desperate ones were the first to seek it out._

Dead bodies. Of children, to be exact. And plastic bags, too. Stuffed full, meant to look like trash. Doubtful those bags actually had trash inside.

_When the fucker was asleep in his own room, done playing with us and not giving a damn about our existence, I watched in confusion as some of kids tried to crawl closer to the wall, writhing like worms._

I contemplated moving on lest this grotesque sight make me puke all my guts out. But before I could make a step away, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something move.

_Confusion became horror as I realized they were trying to smash their heads against the wall. Bound and gagged, the rest of us couldn't do anything but watch as they desperately tried to end their own lives._

That thing latched onto the steel bars and it startled me. I quickly aimed the pistol at it, and it was when I saw the thing for what it was.

_I tried to scream, begging them to stop. But with no strength left to give volume to my muffled voice, I was truly powerless. What happened I could only let happen._

“What the fuck...?” A hunchback? No, no, it looked like... a kid. An extremely unhealthy one, strangely void of any human features and his back bent low like a hunchback, his skin a sickly pale color.

_It went on like that for an awfully long time._

I thought there was no way that thing could reach me, and almost immediately I was proven wrong.

_For once I wished that the fucking pedophile could have been in there to stop them from carrying out their death wish._

As I lowered the pistol his head bursted open all of a sudden, a metal beam as sharp as a spear protruding from his body. The explosion threw me back - thank God - so I was left unscathed.

_I watched them until my eyes became too tired to stay open. I wanted to sleep. I wondered if I should. Maybe by the time I woke up they would still be alive, their suicide having been intervened by the creep._

“Ca-calm d-down...” Again my heart rivaled the beating of drums. “Calm the fuck down, Simon!” It was as if I was trying to command myself. I breathed frantically, sweat running down my back like a waterfall and my grip on the Glock shaking uncontrollably.

_But the moment I decided to sleep that horrible night away I heard a crack, and my eyes widened with fear. One of the suicidal kids had collapsed to the floor. Those that joined him soon followed, making a wet, silent thump as they hit the tiles, their bodies limp and lifeless._

Just when I tried to reassure myself with the thought that it couldn't get any worse, something else moved behind those bars.

_Morning came and the rapist entered our room to discover the kids with their heads cracked open, blood and whatever else splattered on the wall._

Something tall. Inhumanly tall.

_I wished for all of this to stop, for no more of us to have to resort to such a tragic end._

“Oh, God...” I heard a chainsaw revving up.

_When the fucker took in not another kid but a man, I thought my wishes were answered._

I could feel my heart jump as the thing came out of the shadows screeching, louder than the chainsaw even.

_The guy must have suspected the pedophile and decided to follow him back here today, unfortunately caught in the process. He was too old for the creep's liking, that was for sure. His exact age though I never knew. He looked like a teen at worst and a young adult at best. Right now as I write this, I'm probably older than he has ever been. Even his name I never found out._

The only things which stood between me and the sawer were those metal bars and a tiny bit of distance should he break them open. To my relief, he couldn't. He kept hitting those bars with the saw like an idiot. I cocked the sidearm and aimed it at his head, just in case.

_As it turned out, he was only there to delay my sufferings, however._

He screeched again and I couldn't help firing a shot, which only made it screech even louder.

_One evening saw him break out of his ties. He caught the molester in the middle of his perverted acts and took him head on. I cheered on for him inside, thinking the element of surprise would lend him an easy grab at victory, but all hope quickly died down as he proved to be no match against the pedophile._

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” I yelled, firing more at his head, hit or miss I had no idea. It didn't shut the thing up however. Unloading the rest of this clip sounded tempting, so I did it.

_I didn't sleep that night. I saw what happened afterwards. What that fucker did to him._

The thing fell silent. I smirked. Then I noticed that blood was oozing out of his eyes and mouth, which looked no different from bottomless black holes.

_He dragged the boy to the next room and beat the shit out of him. It sated his anger somewhat, but it was clear from the start that this couldn't go on._

The _clang clang clang_ and the sparks whenever the chainsaw hit the metal bars stopped, too. Was he realizing the futility of his situation? He looked around, as dumbstruck as a disfigured face could express.

_Letting him go was not an option, but neither was keeping him captive here._

“What the...?” The monster brought the saw up, dangerously close to its own neck. What was it doin–

_Thus, he killed him._

The enormous tool sawed through his neck in one fell swoop.

_By cutting his head clean off with a pair of garden scissors._

The monster fell to its knees and let out one last howl before collapsing entirely to the floor. As it hit the ground the head rolled off and when it stopped, those pitch black eyes were looking straight at me, through the flesh and right at my own soul.

_His head fell off and rolled on the floor like a soccer ball, eyes wide open in the horror of knowing what was about to be done to him._

My whole body was shivering from the sight of it all. My stomach felt nauseous. So did my throat. With great difficulty I tried to stand back up. I wanted no more of this, so I walked away. Or rather, _commanded_ my own body to walk away.

_For nights he didn't lay even a single finger on any of us. The others were glad. I wasn't, for I knew why and they did not._

Another step and I collapsed to the floor as well, vomiting out everything there was in my stomach. Take in so much and one way or another things start to spill, it seemed.

_Of course, keeping dead bodies where you live is basically just asking for trouble to come, so he had to get rid of them. The headless teen and the kids who killed themselves._

“Oh not again...”

_By hacking all the corpses into tiny pieces._

The dead children from earlier began to rise up, the plastic bags glued stuck to their dead bodies by their own blood, their limbs dangling, almost falling off. They were supposed to be dead! Just how?!

_With those pieces he filled trash bags after trash bags._

Somehow each of them all held knives, one in each hand, and needless to say they were more than eager to flay me alive.

_Where he disposed of them I did not know. I did not want to, and even now I still don't. I think I had seen enough._

They latched onto the metal bars and that was when I took to my feet and ran up the stairs. I wanted to run. To get away from them as far as possible. The metal bars could keep them at bay but I couldn't trust them anymore.

_I don't know if God does exist, but I swear the Devil does, for the evil in that man knew no limits._

I tripped and fell. God-fucking-damnit! Immediately I pointed the pistol back down the stairs without looking and pressed the trigger, somehow expecting them to be there.

_Fucker's eventually caught, of course. Found guilty but only of pedophiliac crimes._

The gun just clicked. Damnit, what a great time to jam. I crawled on, risking a glance back.

_In court I tried to throw more light on the matter by bringing up more what he did. The teen whom he decapitated and the kids who killed themselves. All cut to bits and pieces and thrown onto a garbage truck._

“Wha–?!” They were already at my heels! How???

_But however hard I tried, they couldn't find any proofs of such wrongdoings._

Too late. They already surrounded me. The knives rose and I covered my face, my eyes knitted shut. I waited. Waited for those rusty blades to sink deep into my flesh and cut me apart.

_And the icing on the cake? The motherfucker would never admit to it either._

Nothing came.

_So they gave up finding. Chalked all of it up to a mentally damaged kid's imaginations._

A moment or two passed before I dared opening my eyes again. The kid-corpses were somehow gone and nowhere to be found, as if they had vaporized. I exhaled in relief. They were gone in a way as absurd as the way in which they bypassed the steel bars, but I was in no mind to question it. It was an answer I never wanted to know either.

_In the end, the law let him live the rest of his years in jail._

I stood up and continued my way to the 2nd floor. Oddly enough, the path now seemed free of obstacles and monstrosities (at least the visible ones). To be safe I fumbled around with the pistol a little bit, inserting a new 9mm magazine into it before moving on.

_But Sergeant Henriksson wasn't content with that._

Another hallway like the one on the ground floor. Empty and completely dark as it greeted me.

_Dad, I wonder, how did it feel?_

The lights suddenly turned on. Then it flickered for a second or two before the hall bathed in darkness again. Thankful my phone's battery wasn't dying.

_When you took justice into your own hands, how did it feel?_

I paused to recollect my thoughts. My destination was the second floor here, yes, but... which room was it? There was a total of seven rooms here, and all their doors bore no differences from each other. The number plates were taken off, as if my arrival had been anticipated.

_How did it feel to take the life of the monster who ruined your son, your family, your life?_

I sighed. Figured I had no choice but to check each of them out. After all, my life had always been hellhole after hellhole, so why would it be easy now all of a sudden?

_And, what a shame you didn't live on, because I really wanted to ask you this._

I grabbed the doorknob of the room nearest to me and turned it. It wouldn't budge.

_How did you do it?_

I tried the next nearest room to no avail.

_The news reported his death as carried out by your hands, dad, but they never went into details. I tried to get to the bottom of it myself but couldn't. I wondered why._

The third room I tried, the doorknob just... fell off.

_The department probably had a hand in making things that way, so as to spare you, an admirable and honest officer, any decency they could afford._

The fourth wouldn't budge, either.

_Since I couldn't get my hands on the truth, I could only wish you had given him the justice he so much fucking deserved._

I laid my hand on the fifth door with thoughts of giving up gathering somewhere in the back of my mind. I let out a tired sigh, almost defeated even – it wouldn't open.

_Because, dad, in my worst moments, I always go back to that God-forsaken place._

Seven rooms and so far five had barred me access. I tried the sixth door and, much to my surprise, it opened.

_My entire life I never stopped asking myself: ‘What if that day never came?’. But the past is the past. There's no changing what already happened. I know that. But hell, every night I wished, like a fucking record put on repeat over and over, for just one chance to go back and prevent everything from ever happening. Just one, I tell you!_

I half expected someone - or something - admitting me in on the other side of the door. But I found nothing but silence and darkness there.

_In times so desperate, that wish carried over to my dreams..._

The narrow corridor welcomed my presence with its eerie emptiness. There were two rooms on both sides, all closed shut. Anything could pop out of those doors and get the jump on my sorry ass at any moment, so I checked each of them out. One was the kitchen and the other I guessed to be a storage room. Both of them wouldn't even budge a little and I found myself thanking them for that.

_“Simon,” I remember Purnell asking me during one of our therapy sessions, “do you have a father? Or someone close to you, like a father figure?”_

Then again, neither of them mattered at all, as I knew what the room I was searching for looked like, and this place definitely wasn't it.

_“None,” I answered after a long silence. “My dad died long ago. In the... on the job.”_

Still, I felt like I had to check the place out. Better safe than sorry, I guess. I stepped into the living room and out of the corner of my eye I caught something moving.

_Another lie._

My finger was right next to the trigger when I saw that it was just a mirror - almost wasted a shot there.

_You were sent to prison afterwards. For ‘murdering' a monster. And while you were there someone shanked you. Then left you to die of blood loss. Mom tried to live on for me, so that she could take care of me. She tried, anyway..._

Had it not been for my reflection I probably would have never realized that I looked like a walking blood pack. The gray hoodie was all but completely soaked, my entire face smeared with blood save my eyes and forehead.

_I thought time would ease the pain, little by little. Turns out, I was wrong, dad. Little more than a year after your funeral I came home to mom having hanged herself on the ceiling, and each year I find it harder and harder to attend the anniversary of your and mom's deaths._

Putting the gun on a nearby table, I threw the hood back and slowly pulled down the zipper of my hoodie. I needed a change – I couldn't go on looking like this.

_Now I'm sitting in a wheelchair, and the choice of being there or not at all for you both is entirely up to me. Most of the time I just rot in this bed and let the relatives and your colleagues do all the work. I don't know if I should feel better or worse about myself for that._

Tossing the blood-soaked hoodie away, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

_Your uniform, your bulletproof vest, your baton even, your colleagues gave them all to me for keepsakes. Right now I'm looking at them as I write these words._

The police uniform I wore beneath was a dark shade of blue almost indistinguishable from the darkness. The name tag on my left breast read ‘Henriksson'. A smile grew on my lips as I looked at it.

_They remind me so much of you, dad._

I held the blue cap in my hand, realizing the memories of old were slowly coming back to me. I remember hiding it away and making dad find it when I was little.

_A dedicated officer, a great family man, a good father. With a bright path ahead of him._

“Simon, you petty thief!” He would call me that and I would burst out laughing. “You are soooooo grounded for this!”

_Too bad, all of that went into the ground._

Oh, happy times...

_Because of me._

I re-adjusted the collars and put the cap on. Before heading out I looked at my reflection one last time. Makes me remember that I once wished to be a police officer when I grow up, just like my father.

Well, it's a dream best left to sleep now.

I closed the door behind me and approached the seventh room. The door opened and let me in, just like I expected it to. If this wasn't it then I had no idea what was.

_Countless nights I dreamed the same dream over and over._

I gently pushed the door open so as to avoid making any loud noises. Inside, the place was dark just like the rest, save the dimly lit living room. A TV was playing there, the disgusting sounds of moanings, pained cries and begging sickening me to the stomach. It was tempting as fuck to go in guns blazing but I had no intentions of letting him slip away, however cornered he was.

_A helpless dream in which I placed myself in your shoes and went back to that place._

I walked in, taking each of my step with meticulous care. He was sitting on the floor, his back turned to me and his eyes glued to the TV screen. Even though I stood right behind him he didn't even move nor flinch. He wasn't even fucking aware of my existence.

_The directions in which it could have gone, there were as many as the human mind could think of._

I pointed the gun at the back of his head. One press of the trigger and everything would end there, but... no. I swayed the pistol slightly to the side, the barrel now right next to his ear, pointed at the TV screen.

_Thousands, if not millions, of which were, undoubtedly, for the better._

“It would be too quick,” I mouthed the words past gritted teeth. Killing him was a must, yes, but for all that he had done, an instant way out was no different than a blessing.

_But what good was better..._

I pressed the trigger and the bullet escaped in a loud bang, cracking the TV screen. The rapist fell to the floor, covering his ears in pain. I took no more than a second to line up my next shot and double-tapped the trigger. He couldn't contain his scream – both his kneecaps sprayed blood – and to be truthful, I had never felt this great in such a long time.

_...when the damage could never be undone?_

What's so human about a wounded man is his choice to grip the bleeding wounds. An experienced one will hold on for dear life to stop the blood loss, but a coward would yelp in pain and keep his hands away so as not to worsen the torturous feeling. He proved to be the latter – my grin widened – and wailed and cursed me in his pathetic voice, which was breaking and about to cry. I let out a small laugh at this wonderful sight, but in truth, the satisfaction I sought after was... far from fulfilled.

_When the hideous truth has already been written in stone, and not even the most powerful man there is has the power to change it?_

Another shot escaped the Glock and penetrated his shoulder. That made him sprawl on the floor hilariously. Cries turned to weeping and I had to walk over and stomp his knee to hear him screech again. God, that felt amazing. Then I knelt down with the sidearm raised high and struck his cheek with the butt end of the gun.

_In that dream I would dole out all kinds of punishment I could think of on him, each one more brutal than the last._

Another pistol-whip. Then I gave another more and threw the gun away. Nothing says personal like a good old-fashioned bare-handed beating. I threw a right jab to his face, then a left. Right jab, left jab. He started to cry. I didn't fucking care. Pity for him, I had none. Right jab. Left jab. Right jab. Left. Right.

_But I am never satisfied._

His cries and begging kept coming out his blood-filled mouth only to be cut off by my knuckles. Like fucking hell I cared what he said or what he did. He could kiss his own balls and I would still beat the ever living fuck out of him.

_It matters not how many punches I throw, or however hard I strike._

I grabbed the baton dangling from my belt. I clenched the stick in my hand and when I mustered enough force, I drove the club down right where his nose was. Of fucking course I didn't stop at that – I started to club him repeatedly with the nightstick. My hands were beginning to feel tired, but the fatigue was no match against my desire to see him die a horrible death.

_Because none of it would amount to anything at all._

His arms and legs fell limp. His face I had smashed in and reduced to a puddle of blood before I even fucking knew it. White bones stuck out beneath the blood and the brains, his eyeballs I pummelled flat, popping like bubbles. And yet I still continued on with the beating.

_And at the end of those vengeful dreams I would wake up shouting and yelling my head off, realizing that all of it was just a dream, that all of it had not changed a single thing and I'm still stuck in this fucking hellhole, destined to forever climb it and fall back down to the bottom whenever I see the way out._

I honestly couldn't help it – the cracking of his skull sounded like songs to my ears.

_Once that's over, I would end up crying and soaking the pillow, forcing myself to sleep but somehow cannot, until my eyes are too tired to stay open._

_How long has it been going on like this, I wonder? I couldn't remember when it started. All I know is that it's been happening for too long now. It has to stop. For the love of God it has to.  
_

_But... when will it stop?_

_And does it actually stop, that is?_

_Mom._

_Dad._

_I'm so sorry I'm like this._

_I really am._

_~~Please forgive me.~~ _


	2. Closure

"Doc? Is that...?"

Purnell turned from the smoking papers to the voice that called him.

"I..." 

The doctor found himself at a loss of words. As he tried to find them Simon's wheelchair began to make its slow crawl towards the doctor.

"I had to burn it, Simon." He admitted, shaking his head slowly with a sigh. The book... was more than just a book, for a lack of better terms. And none of it was good.

"It's okay, doc," Simon said, much to the doctor's surprise. "You even forgot the missing pages."

Before Purnell could ask a question, he heard a thump right where the burning book was. At this point the good doctor couldn't keep his surprise inside any longer - the pile of torn, crumpled papers in Simon's hands earlier, the boy had dropped them into the fire. The last missing pieces of a nightmarish whole.

The two of them stood and watched, Simon with a small smile on his face and Doctor Purnell with his eyes wide and his mouth agape, as the boy's past went up in smoke. Or rather, an account of it, actually. An account too vivid of what had transpired, of wounds too old still bleeding and memories best laid to rest.

They watched the fire for some time, an unspoken understanding shared by both.

"How is Sophie?" Purnell broke the silence.

"She's doing well," Simon replied, his face feeling hot from the fire so he backed away a little. "And she's just got engaged, too. I'm happy for her."

"Simon..." The doctor was hesitant. "If... if that's not how you truly feel about her, you know you can be honest with me."

"What, doc?" The boy was genuinely confused. Then he understood what Purnell was talking about. "Oh, you mean... me and Sophie..."

"Yes," he said.

"Well..." Simon paused. "Sophie... she was my, well, only friend that stayed with me throughout the years, you know that, doc. David was with me for a time, then gone was he to God-knows-where." A long sigh.

"I clung to her, doc." Simon's voice started to break a little. "I thought that... she would save me, that if I held onto her with both hands tight, she would eventually lift me up from my own despair... and then things would be wonderful again.” A pause. “And I couldn't help feeing that way, too – it was as if all the signs were pointing me towards her.

"Took me long enough, but I finally learned." The crippled teen mustered a smile. "Only I can save myself." He looked at Purnell. "I'm not... discrediting you or anything, doc." A chuckle. "You were of great help during all this - you stayed with me throughout all this - I can't deny that. It’s just back then I didn't want to... you know, be fixed. Or helped."

"It's okay, Simon." On the doctor's face was a warm smile that mirrored his. "I understand what you mean."

Once inside, the doctor comfortably settled Simon on an armchair, then took a seat himself.

"Simon," Purnell said, "I got... news. I figured now is a good time to tell you, given how you’re feeling."

"What is it, doc?" Simon asked.

"We received donations. From your friends, your dad's old colleagues. Even from strangers."

"What do you mean?"

"We... well, I think... you can walk again if you try."

"Really, doc?!"

"It's a long process which will take years to come to fruition, but if you try to..."

But Simon’s mind didn't register any of that. The possibility of walking again was somehow already certain in his eyes, despite whatever Purnell said, and he could see from the boy's face that he was overflowing with joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, maybe a happy ending of sorts, for all that Simon went through. Hope that you enjoyed :)


End file.
